The Henna Wars: Chapters 6–11

“Hi!” I tried to be bright and bubbly like I’d seen Chyna be with other people. On her, it was charming. On me? Pathetic, maybe. That’s what I gauged from the way everyone in that room looked at me, with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

As I called Ammu to pick me up, I could hear Chyna recounting the story that made her fit right into that clique of girls.

At lunchtime I watch out for her, but when I catch her sitting down with Chyna and her posse I quickly put an end to my roaming eyes.

Jess is already sidling into the back row, apparently done with sitting through teacher scrutiny at the front of the class.

“Which teacher do you think we’ll have for Business?” Jess leans forward on her desk to whisper to us as a slew of students trickle in, the sound of their chatter filling up the room.

“Open your boooks, girls,” she adds in a high-pitched voice, imitating Ms. Burke’s country- tinged accent and causing Chaewon and me to burst out into a fit of giggles.

The three of us manage to stifle our giggles and look up with smiles still tugging at the corners of our lips.

There’s a palpable shift in the mood of the class.

Priti has after-school study, which Ammu and Abbu cajoled her into doing, even though she doesn’t really need it.

So instead of spending lunchtime in the schoolyard, hanging around by myself in a corner and alerting everyone to the fact that I was utterly alone and friendless, I would slip into the school library, hide behind a few bookshelves and bury myself in whatever I could find.

She sits up, like she’s ready for a serious question. She makes her face all scrunched up and somber.

I don’t know why, but I’d never attributed Flávia leaving to something to do with her mom, even though obviously I heard about the divorce.

Flávia’s lips quirk into something resembling a smile.

It’s not like I pined after Flávia all these years, considering I didn’t even realize that I had a crush on her way back then, but...having her here feels weird, in a nice way.

They’ve already eliminated anything related to food because that’ll be too much hassle, and Jess has started to consider how her obsession with video games can be made into a business venture.

“And she’s making an attempt, you know? To make amends. I have to meet her halfway, don’t I? Isn’t that my responsibility?”

Personally, I think Priti is blathering on about nothing to justify going along with Ali, but I know better than to say that.

“I mean, it’s okay, it’s definitely not the same caliber as Nanu’s but—”

I wave my henna- laden hands around in front of their faces.

She inches her arms forward and there it is, inked onto her hands. The same identical design in a garishly red color.

“I did tell you about her...” Priti says, like she’s treading the waters before pulling the haughty “I told you so.”

There’s concern in her eyes, though I can tell that she wants to be snooty about being right.

She’s not exactly a credible journalist; half the things she says are outright lies, but people still accept them like decrees from the Pope himself.

“You need to actually practice, you know,” Priti says when she slinks into my room with her math book.

She examines her hand with careful eyes, like it’s about to reveal the answer to my question. Like it’s a sentient being instead of part of her body.

Unlike her, I don’t exude natural likeability.

I know that Priti has spent time cultivating her Instagram page. Her couple thousand followers are her weird pride and joy.

“You have to do it if we’re going to get a decent picture.” That feels like a total paradox.

The design stands out against everything else, stark and intricate and...dare I say it, kind of beautiful.

My mind conjures the worst-case scenarios: nobody liked our Instagram post, or they all commented on how horrible my designs are.

Ammu eyes us both with some disdain.

I feel elated. Or...I feel like I should feel elated. This is what I wanted.

The hands in the photo are all pale, flushed a light pink—probably from the chill that’s set in.

I know that something else is at play, something that Priti isn’t telling me, but with so many henna tubes weighing me down and Sunny Apu waiting up in my room, I’m not really in the mood to try and wheedle it out of her.

The smile on her face has disappeared and she’s staring intently at the carpet.